I remember a slum front room on a rain-broken morning. Weak sunlight filters through cracks in a raffia blind, throwing feint patterns onto a worn fireside rug.

A young woman sits on the rug with her knees drawn up supporting her face-down head. She’s crying. An occassional tear escapes and falls to the rug.

On a bed in the corner of the room a man half sits and half wants to leave.

“I must have turned over in the night a hundred times,” he tells her, his tone one of a strangely constructed question, “but I can’t remember saying ‘I love you’?”

************

Anthony is slowly

Disappearing.

“It’s this present tense experience,”

He says.

His foot faded away

Yesterday

And became

Nothing.

“History,” he tells me,

“Is what was present in the past.”

Now he’s footless

In the future

And fantasy

Free.

************

Conversation from an alley at the rear of the Rainbow Theatre, Finsbury Park, London, circa 1978. Speakers — quality and quantity — unknown.

Great band. What an act, man. Shark Fin Tsu and The Fishhead Gang…

— Little bit of this, little piece of that…

— We gonna back stage, yeah?

— Sure. Good ol’ frien’ a mine, Shark Fin… from the early days.

— Primo’s got a new drug… market research, get it?

— Well…

— Totally new, man, designer high, like wearing the synapses on the arse of your pants. Know what I mean?

— Human Secrets Agency (HSA) got it all sewn up… the whole market. Got human feelers out disguised as punks and rent-boys, soaking everything up.

— So, Paul Zanzibar is waiting for a cab… take him to the gig. Takes a new pill to pass the time.

— No sense no feeling…

— Blood simple. Arrives at the gig talking total nonsense…

— …and ‘ero’s trying to fin’ ‘er way out a chapter one!

— No mercy no surrender…

— Blood simple cry tough…

— Her real name is Amanda…

— Sure, I’ll have a mandie…

— Yeah, Shark Fin Amanda. Try to make it with her once but Human Secrets Agency has her all sewn up…

— No mandie no deal. 

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